


The Song Remembers When

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas Playing Piano, Destiel - Freeform, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Music, Nostalgic!Dean, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:25:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes less than three chords for the hair on Dean’s arms to stand up. He knows the song immediately. He doesn't know how to react or what to do, so he stays quiet and doesn't move. The longer Cas plays the harder this is to maintain. Dean closes his eyes and focuses. There's an ache growing in his chest, a physical ache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song Remembers When

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Lacqueluster, Beta'd by Waterkiss37 
> 
> This was inspired by a beautiful piece of fan art I saw of Cas and Dean sitting at a piano. I don't know the artist and I won't post it here because it's not mine, but I hope you've all seen it. If you haven't it's worth a quick search, because it's just stunning.

Dean can hear music. He wakes slowly thinking the music is left over from a dream, but it doesn't fade away like dreams do. He raises his arm and opens his eyes. The room is dark but his eyes are adjusted. Cas isn't in bed with him. That's not totally unusual, sometimes Cas gets up to read or watch TV while Dean sleeps. 

The music though, that's unusual. It's faint, coming from somewhere within the bunker, down a hall or behind a door. He doesn't recognize the song. 

He's never known Cas to listen to music. Maybe it's Sam? Nah, not Sam's style. Could it be a ghost? Surely they don't have a ghost playing records or radio.

He wanders out of his room, slowly trying to pinpoint the location. He assumes it's coming from the room with the old record player but as he moves past the door he knows it's not coming from there. He turns left and it gets a little louder. He slows down, not sure what he's walking up on. 

The closer he gets, he realizes the music isn't coming from a radio. It's not a record either. It's an actual piano. Every once in a while he hears an off key, not something you'd hear on a recording.

_Great, a piano playing ghost. Probably a long dead Men of Letters stiff that never mastered some piano concerto, back to serenade us in our sleep. Just what we need._

Dean inches up to the door. He's never paid attention to this room. He remembers opening the door after they first moved in and seeing boxes and junk piled around. He'd shut the door and never opened it again, he assumed Sam hadn't either. He doesn't remember a piano.

He peeks around the corner expecting a wispy apparition and a cold spot, but what he sees makes him freeze. 

It's Cas. Cas sitting on the piano bench, his hands poised over the keys, long fingers moving slow with intention as he reads from the sheet music in front of him. Dean stares. And stares. 

_What the hell is this?_

He moves into the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame and just watching. Cas doesn't acknowledge him. Dean notices the angel's perfect posture, his straight back, square shoulders. The piano is a small upright, simple wood and rather plain. The sound is good though.

Cas is wearing a pair of Dean’s flannel pajama pants, dark with white stripes. He's got on white socks, those are probably Dean's too, and his right foot works one of the pedals up and down. His arms are bare from above his elbow, the sleeves on his grey t-shirt are short and his lean arms are beautiful.

Everything about this is beautiful. The tall floor lamp shines down from Cas’ right side, warming his skin in a soft glow. His mouth is relaxed and at times Dean thinks he sees those full lips move with the concentration of reading the music. Dean is struck by how lucky he is to finally have Cas, to finally be _with_ him. Maybe it took them awhile to get here but they're here now and Dean wouldn't change a thing.

The song fades away, Dean doesn't hear the music or notice the notes. He sees Cas. He smiles watching him play. He stands there until the song ends. Cas’ hands go still on the keys. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey’ya, Cas. Didn't know if you noticed me or not.” 

“I saw your shadow when you moved into the door.” 

“I didn't know you played,” Dean looks around the room now, noticing the boxes organized on the back wall. “Didn't know there was even a piano in here.” 

Cas looks behind him at the boxes. “Yes, I had to dig it out. There are more instruments in those boxes.” 

“Really? Huh.” Dean steps into the room closer to the piano. “How long have you played?” 

“Not long, I've always wanted to try.” Cas looks away from the boxes to meet Dean’s eyes. He seems hesitant for some reason. 

“It sounded good. Where did you learn to read music?” 

“I've always been able to read music. Music is like a language, it's just something angels know.” 

“Yeah, I can see that. Kinda like a universal language, right?” Dean’s bare feet shuffle on the floor as he steps up to lean on the piano. 

“Something like that.” Cas moves his hand over the keys, trailing his fingers lightly over them without sound. “I've always known how to read it but I never tried to actually play. It's more difficult than I imagined.” 

“Can I?” Dean motions to the bench Cas is sitting on. 

Cas scoots down to give Dean room and watches him sit. 

“What were you playing?” 

Cas closes the sheet music to show the front. 

_Prelude No.8 in E flat minor by Bach_

“You're playing Bach? Dang, Cas. Isn't that hard?”

“This piece is considered intermediate in difficulty. I don't have the dexterity for it and I play too slowly, but I still enjoy it.” 

“Sounded perfect to me. You think you could teach me something?” 

Cas grips the front of the bench with his hands and looks at the keys. He seems uncomfortable, and Dean suddenly wonders if he is intruding. Maybe this is something Cas wants to do alone. Totally understandable, Dean would rather work on the Impala alone too. He gets it. 

Dean starts to slide away. “Sorry, I'll leave you alone.” 

He feels Cas’ fingers wrap around his wrist and Dean stills. 

“I'd like to play you something Dean, if it's okay…” 

Dean looks down at the hand holding his wrist. “Yeah- yeah, it's okay. I'd like that.” He offers Cas a small smile but Cas doesn't return it. The angel looks nervous. 

“I don't have sheet music for the song but I've been trying to learn it.” Cas lets go of Dean’s arm but he doesn't move to play yet. 

“I'm sure we could find the music. What's the song called?” 

“I don't know.” 

Dean looks at the piano, studying the wood in the warm lamp light. He waits. 

Cas finally moves his hands to the keys. He holds them there for several seconds before he begins. 

It takes less than three chords for the hair on Dean’s arms to stand up. He knows the song immediately. He doesn't know how to react or what to do, so he stays quiet and doesn't move. The longer Cas plays the harder this is to maintain. Dean closes his eyes and focuses. There's an ache growing in his chest, a physical ache.

Cas is playing it a little slow, and there are occasional pauses that shouldn't be there, but he's playing beautifully. Dean feels his eyes burn a little even though they're closed. He doesn't want to cry, _please don't let me cry_. 

Cas’ fingers falter, the notes jumbling around and seeming to bump into each other. 

Dean opens his eyes and quickly stands. Something in him just needs to move. He takes several steps away, his back to Cas. He wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. He feels foolish.

“I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to mess it up. I wish I had the music.”

Dean turns to see Cas’ head down, his hands folded in his lap. His shoulders are slumped in and he looks defeated. 

“That was beautiful, Cas. It was-” Dean moves back to the piano and sits next to the angel. “Beautiful,” he finally says. He can't think of another word to describe it. 

Cas looks into his eyes, searching. He seems to see that Dean’s words are genuine and the side of his mouth turns up into almost a smile. It falters when he sees a tear slide down Dean’s cheek. 

“Dean,” Cas whispers. 

“It's okay,” Dean picks Cas’ hand up and laces their fingers together, “where'd you hear it?” 

“You,” Cas studies their hands, not looking Dean in the eye, “I hear you hum it sometimes. And if it comes on the radio I notice you listening closely. If you're not driving you'll close your eyes.” 

“That song,” Dean looks at the piano again, “my mom sang that song to me.”

They're both quiet for a long time. 

“I didn't know,” Cas’ voice is soft, almost a whisper. 

“I know,” Dean looks over, studying Cas’ profile, “I know you didn't.” 

“What's the name of it?”

“Hey Jude.” 

Cas nods, shifting those blue eyes on Dean for a moment. “I tried to catch the name the last time we heard it on the radio but I-” Cas’ eyes cast down to Dean’s chest, “I always get distracted watching you when it plays. You look like you're in another world. I was hoping I could play it for you and take you there, but I'm not very good.” 

“Oh, Cas, baby,” Dean tilts the angel's chin up, “I haven't heard that song sound so beautiful since my mom sang it to me. It was perfect. I can't believe you took the time to learn it. That's- it's nice. It's a nice thing you did. Thank you.”

“I don't feel nice. I made you cry. I was nervous to play it, I shouldn't have.” 

Dean pulls his hand out of Cas’ and turns his body to face him. He looks down at his flannel pants Cas is wearing and puts his hand on the angel's knee, feeling the fabric between his fingers. 

“I'm not crying because anything is wrong. Sometimes music…” Dean pauses, considering what to say. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Cas is quiet beside him before he turns to study Dean’s profile. “Will you try?”

Dean meets his eyes. There’s an innocence there, a desire to learn about Dean. And even if the words will be hard, Dean wants to find them. He looks back at the piano keys.

“It's like- like the other day I was in a gas station, I was waiting on change from the cashier, just a normal thing. I’ve done it in a million gas stations, in a million towns, it’s something you don’t even think about, but this time I heard a song come over the radio. This guy's got an old radio behind the counter and this song comes on, old 80’s song you’ve probably never heard-”

Cas interrupts. “What is it?”

The question throws Dean’s line of thinking off. “Uh, it’s a song by Cinderella, _Don’t Know What You Got Till It’s Gone._ I had this girlfriend, first love, one of those where you feel like your soul's lit up from the inside when they’re around. You know the kind.”

Dean doesn’t miss the look Cas gives him, like Dean is that for him. It makes Dean’s insides tight, because Cas is that for him too, but he’s not talking about that right now. He goes on. 

“I don’t know how old I was, late teens I guess, and I thought she was just _it_ , man. And when we left that town, I hated everything. I hated my life, and hunting, and my Dad, and the car I was riding away in, all of it. And I’ll never forget sittin’ in that passenger seat with my head against the window and that song came on-” 

Dean almost laughs then, thinking back on what a mess his teenage years were, but he can’t seem to find it funny. “That stuck with me, and when I heard that song it took me back and I just- I froze. The guy behind me in line finally had to tap me on the shoulder to get me moving.”

Dean reaches his hand out to touch the piano keys. He doesn’t play, he can’t play any instrument besides air guitar, but he’s always wished he could. He’d always wanted a guitar. _“No room in the trunk, Dean,_ his dad had said, _“we can't take away space from the weapons.”_

“They’re not all bad memories like that though,” he goes on, knowing Cas is waiting for him to continue. “Any time I hear that song _The Warrior_ by Scandal? Takes me right back to Tennessee. It’s like I time travel. Me and Dad in the front seat, Sammy in the back. Dad loved that song, I never could figure out why, but every time it came on he’d crank up the dial. We’d all sing and he’d be laughing and just beltin’ it out.” 

This time Dean does laugh, remembering his Dad’s face lighting up. Those smiles weren’t common with his Dad, he and Sam had treasured them. 

“To this day if Sam and I hear that song on the radio we blast it. I play the drums on the steering wheel, just like Dad always did. It’s like we’re right back there in the mountains, and everything makes sense and it’s me and Dad and Sam against the world. It’s like Dad’s in the car again; sometimes I swear I can hear him singin’ too. Never fails to lighten the mood, ya know?”

Cas is looking at him too closely, Dean can feel it. He tries not to clam up, he knows how important it is to Cas to learn these things about him. 

“So when I hear that song, _Hey Jude_ , sometimes it’s like I’m 4 again. Like I didn’t lose her, like if I get up and walk around the corner, Mom will be there. It’s almost like she’s not gone, but it kinda feels like I’m losing her all over again. It’s like she’s with me but she’s missing. Am I making any sense?” Dean is rambling and he knows it, but for the life of him he can’t stop. Tears are threatening once more, burning as he fights them. 

“It’s one of those hurts that’s old and it’s buried, but no matter how hard you stomp on it, it’s bound to rise again. I don’t know, Cas, I don’t know what else to say. I’m not good at ex-” Dean closes his eyes, trying and failing to put his feelings into words, “I’m not good with words. I don’t know how to say it.”

He feels Cas’ hand on his cheek, gently urging him to look over. Dean finally opens his eyes, but he can’t look over, not yet. He wants to finish what he was saying first.

“I don’t know how to say it. It’s like the music, the song, it remembers when...”

When he finally looks over, all Cas gives him is a nod. That’s all he needs really, he just wants to know that Cas understands, that some part of what he said made any kind of sense. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Cas.”

Cas looks confused for a second. “Do what?”

Dean looks away, wishing for the hundredth time since he crawled out of bed that he could find a way to explain his emotions. “Sometimes you make me feel _more_ somehow. Does that make sense?” 

“I think so, yes.” Cas turns his upper body toward Dean and puts a hand on Dean’s thigh. He rubs inside his leg where Dean’s boxer briefs end. “You make me feel more too, Dean. You make me feel deeper than I ever have.” 

“Yeah, _deeper._ That's a good word for it.” Dean rubs slow circles inside Cas’ knee with his thumb. “So it's not a bad thing that I cried, ya’know? It just surprised me when you started playing, but it was a great surprise.”

Cas smiles and Dean notices the little lines that touch the corner of the angel's eyes. Dean loves those little lines; he loves to kiss them when Cas isn’t expecting it. He loves to see the surprise at such a small show of affection. 

Dean smiles back. “Will you play it again? I'll try not to cry.”

There's that surprised look Dean loves.

“Dean, are you sure? I'm really not very go-”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss, gentle and chaste. “I'm sure,” he whispers.

Cas looks around Dean’s face, across his cheekbones. His dark eyelashes moving gracefully. “Will you play those songs for me? The ones you mentioned?”

Dean smiles, the thought of playing old 80’s hair bands for Cas is appealing somehow. “Yeah, Cas. Yeah, I’d love to.”

Cas turns away and places his hands on the keys. 

“I'll try.”


End file.
